


And So She Was Found

by rissaleigh49



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, F/M, Family Secrets, Illegitimacy, Miscarriage, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rissaleigh49/pseuds/rissaleigh49
Summary: The late Duke of Hastings continued his efforts to sire a “perfect” heir after his discovery of Simon’s stammer. Even once Simon had proven his merit, the duke was set in his comfort with a kept mistress, doing whatever he pleased. He was the Duke of Hastings, afterall.Even with all his years as a powerful man doing whatever (and whomever) he pleased, he still only managed to sire one other child.Charlotte Maria Basset Jones was born in 1796, and unfortunately for her she was far from perfect.Her father insisted that her mother (who had been his mistress for nearly twelve years) had to have been unfaithful to him, because the Hastings line could never produce a child so small and sickly.When he passed, he left no record of his previous mistress, or the sickly child he had fathered.Or so he had hoped.--In 1813, Daphne suffers tragedy at the concert, but it might be what ends up saving her marriage.Simon, in his grief and confusion, begins looking through a box of his father’s things, and uncovers the identity of another young woman who could probably use his help.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 116
Kudos: 325





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies! Here I am, back with another non-LO fic. Bridgerton is my current fixation, and I couldn't resist putting my own spin on things. 
> 
> This is based on the show, not the books. There will be some things picked from the books (I'm currently on #6) but for continuity sake, this is a canon divergence from the night of the concert onward.

Daphne sat next to her husband in their box at the Orchestra, trying very hard  _ not _ to look at him. She could feel him, as she always could, every time he stole a glance at her. 

Which was often. 

Even now, absolutely furious with him and the absolutely ridiculous reason he had for refusing to choose happiness with her, her skin tingled every time those golden brown eyes washed over her. It made her heart ache, wishing they were back on their honeymoon, and those sweeping glances meant he was imagining what her dress would look like on the floor instead of dreadfully wondering if she was carrying a child. 

And then he held her hand. 

She was shocked, really, that he had reached across his seat at all, even for just the most innocent of touches. But this, this was the most intimacy they had shared in the last few weeks, and it gave her just the tiniest modicum of hope that regardless to whether they had a child or not, they would be okay. It made a small, genuine smile grace her lips for the first time in weeks. 

And then the pain started. 

Daphne prided herself on being able to maintain her composure, so when her whole body tensed and she let out a tiny, almost unnoticeable gasp, Simon knew something was wrong. 

He turned to ask her if she was alright; at least, he thought he was going to. But the look she gave him, one of not just pain but fear too, and her breath coming so quick it was like she had just come up from being underwater for too long, froze any words that may have been on his tongue. Then she was up and out of her seat and nearly running to the retiring room behind their box.

Simon was frozen in place, his muscles feeling like they’d been replaced with stone. Did he go to her? He wanted to, but if he was being honest, he didn’t think he could handle her rejection should she send him away. He saw a flash of white from behind the curtain, and somehow managed to move his neck so that he could see across to the Bridgertons’ box, where his mother in law was no longer seated. 

She must have seen Daphne’s distress, and come to aid her. He took a deep breath, telling himself that she would be a better comfort to his wife than himself at present, and decided he would try and pretend he was enjoying the concert. 

That’s when he noticed it. 

The chairs were red, so the fact that he saw it at all was surprising. A darker blotch on the upholstery, as if it had been wet, right where Daphne had been sitting. 

Blood. 

He swallowed hard. He may not know much about a woman’s courses, but the amount of blood that was currently on the seat of her chair seemed too much for them to have just started so suddenly. Something, some instinct or sixth sense, told him something was very, very wrong. 

He was frozen again, staring at the seat of the now ruined chair in his box, until he heard his wife crying through the door and curtains separating them. 

Suddenly, he was in the room with them, his wife and mother in law. He didn’t remember how he got there, or if he had said anything, but his hands were clutching the back of the chaise as his heart broke from the sound of Daphne’s sobs. Lady Bridgerton was kneeling with her on the floor, hushing and rocking her like she was a small child. She looked up at him, her lips moving, but he didn’t hear anything she said. He was too engrossed by the way Daphne was curled in on herself, and the blood that was continuing to spread on the skirts of her pale dress. 

“Your grace?” 

The words sounded like they were underwater, and he was unable to move again. There was a noise behind him, maybe, he wasn’t sure.

“Hastings? My God, Basset, Mother, what -”

More jumbled words, more commotion, and still, he was fixed. 

More blood.

He felt like he would vomit. 

“Simon!”

He wasn’t sure if it was the use of his given name, or the rough grabbing of his arm, or a combination of the two that roused him from his stupor, but whatever it was, he was grateful. 

Because now he had to do something.

He looked at Anthony, nodding to let him know he was fully in the room with them, but still unable to speak. 

“We have to - she needs to be in bed. And a doctor,” Anthony said gruffly, clearly at odds with his role as older brother to Daphne while standing next to her husband, whom he had fought with only a few days prior. 

“Bridgerton house is closer, but I understand if you -” Lady Bridgerton began to speak, but Simon stopped her. 

“The c-c-c-closer the better, I th-th-think.” Simon squeezed his eyes shut of the embarrassment, his tongue feeling heavy and foreign in his mouth as he forced the words out. He couldn’t say another word, so he silently walked around the chaise and gently lifted his wife from her mother’s arms. As he held her, he noticed how pale she looked, her eyes glazed over in faraway stare. 

“Simon…” she whispered, one hand coming to his cheek.

It was then he noticed he’d be crying. “Hush, my love. I’m right here.”

Anthony cleared his throat gracelessly. “I’ve already called your carriage around, and have made sure there is no one in our path who might see us. I doubt Daphne would like Whistledown reporting on her condition.”

Simon wordlessly nodded in thanks for both of them, and together the four of them made their way to Bridgerton House. 

\---

It was horrible. 

Daphne had fallen unconscious in the carriage, and it was all he could do to not start sobbing over her body. Propriety be damned, he had insisted on holding her in his lap until they arrived at Bridgerton House, and thankfully neither Anthony or Lady Bridgerton had spared him even a disapproving glance. 

When they finally arrived, Lady Bridgerton had insisted that Daphne be taken to her room, and both a physician and a midwife were sent for at once. Simon had laid her on the bed, and immediately there were three maids helping to take off her evening gown and unpin her hair and to set up extra sheets to catch the blood. 

Anthony had tried to usher him out of the room, but he stubbornly refused, wanting to be present for his wife when she woke up. 

_ If _ she woke up. 

He knew it was normal for a pregnancy not to take, and most of the time it wasn’t even talked about. A woman might mistake it for her monthly courses until a larger clot appeared that signaled it was something more. But, given all they’d been through recently, Simon couldn’t help but feel an acute sense of loss. 

He also felt like a complete ass. 

Had he caused this? With his stupid vow to his father, his stubborness, his horrific behavior towards Daphne as of late? They hadn’t known yet, if she had been with child, her courses had just been late after all, but he’d heard somewhere that worry was bad for expectant mothers…

Damn it all, he’d never be able to forgive himself for this. 

Suddenly, Daphne let out a low moan, and Simon was pushing his way through to kneel at the side of the bed and clutch at her hand. He didn’t speak, for he knew she wasn’t awake, but she was in pain and he wanted - no, he  _ needed _ \- to be able to do something for her. 

Even if it was just holding her hand. 

Soon the physician and midwife came, and inspected the sheets, and her clothes, (and much to Simon’s ire,  _ her _ ) and declared there was nothing they could do but wait. 

He heard Anthony and Lady Bridgerton discussing in low tones the possibilities of what could happen (he heard the words  _ fever _ and  _ not wake up _ and promptly decided to tune them all out for now). He tried to focus on the steady movement of Daphne’s chest as she breathed, because at least it wasn’t labored or weak, and if he looked at her face, devoid of all life and color, he knew he would cry. 

At some point, someone came and offered him a chair, and a change of clothes, but he honestly couldn’t remember who. The rest of Daphne’s siblings had all come by to check on her, as did her mother, and he was sure one or more of them had offered him tea or food at some point, but again, his mind wasn’t with them. It was with Daphne, and the baby they’d lost, and the future he had cursed, and his wishes that he could take the last two months back. His wishes that he never made that stupid vow to his father, that he wasn’t born so stubborn, that his beautiful wife would open her eyes so he could tell her that he loved her and he was  _ sorry _ , damnit. 

There was nothing else to do now, anyway. Just wish, and wait. 

And keep holding her hand. 


	2. Chapter 2

Daphne was sure she had died. 

She supposed there was a chance of her being just a bit dramatic. If she was truly dead, she certainly would not be in nearly so much pain. Daphne let out a low groan of discomfort. It was like the dull ache of her courses had been magnified about a thousand times, and she was incapable of withholding the sound. 

“Daphne?” Simon’s voice came from her side, and even though it was barely even a whisper, she could hear the hope and desperation it was laced with. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and she realized he was clutching her hand. He wasn’t looking at her face, rather, he was staring at chest, but she did not flush. His eyes did not hold the desire she was used to seeing; it rather looked like his sanity was holding on to whatever had him so focused on her body. She squeezed his hand gently, and suddenly his eyes were locked on hers and the wind was completely knocked out of her.

“Daff…” he breathed, kissing the back of her hand. His voice was caught in his throat, and a lone tear sneaked its way down his cheek. “I-I-I was -”

“Sshh. It’s okay, I’m here,” she said, her eyes wet with unshed tears. 

Simon laughed sadly. “I should be saying that to you.”

Daphne’s responding chuckle was weak, but heartening. Simon had feared he would never hear it again. As he pressed another kiss to her fingers, Daphne let out a small sigh. “What happened?”

Simon’s mouth opened to respond, but no sound came out. His eyes dropped to look at the coverlet, and it took him a few moments to decide what to do. Suddenly, he stood, still holding her hand. “I should call for your mother.”

At the sight of him. Daphne gasped. He hadn’t changed, and there were spots of dried blood on his shirt, waist coat, and trousers. 

Somehow, she knew. She hadn’t even been aware if she had been with child, and yet she knew. 

She finally looked around, realizing she was in her mother’s bedchamber. Her stained dress hanging over the chair for her mother’s vanity, blood drenched sheets in a basket in the corner, an abandoned tea service and a change of men’s clothes on a chair behind where Simon had been kneeling, and a fire dying in the hearth - it all spoke volumes. 

When Simon let his fingers slip from hers, it all became too much, and she sat up so fast it made her dizzy. She reached for him, but was only able to catch his sleeve. “Please,” she begged, her voice shaking. “Not yet, just…”

Simon looked at her, and he understood what she could not say. She needed him. He sat on the bed beside her, and before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he gathered her against his chest, his arms tightening around her as he felt her lean into him. 

Daphne took a deep breath, Simon’s scent soothing her aching heart. She was still hurt by his deception, still didn’t understand  _ why _ , but now, in this moment, she didn’t care. She was sure she would care tomorrow, but she also felt something had changed between them. 

What, she did not know, but she was sure it was something. 

There was a knock at the door, but it did not register to either of them until Violet Bridgerton’s voice alerted them of her presence. 

“I just wanted to - Oh! Daphne! You’re awake!”

Daphne was sure she had never heard so much relief in her mother’s voice before. She and Simon both looked over, a faint blush tingeing both their cheeks at being caught in such an intimate position. But Violet just smiled, clearly happy that her eldest daughter seemed to be out of the woods. 

“I shall ring for some food to be brought up. I’m sure you both could use it after the night you’ve had.” Violet said, turning to speak to some servant in the corridor. When she returned, she gave the still loosely embracing couple an amused look. “Your grace? Perhaps you’d like to change now that we know Daphne is awake?”

Simon jolted, looking between his wife and her mother, and then nodded, picking up the clothes Anthony (or maybe Benedict?) had left for him the night before. Daphne looked stricken at his departure, so, despite Lady Bridgerton’s presence, he leaned forward and kissed her head. 

“I’ll only be a moment,” he murmured.

“There’s a dressing room through there,” Violet said, gesturing to the door beside her vanity. 

As soon he disappeared through the door, Daphne turned to her mother. “How long was I asleep for?” Daphne asked, and her mother looked at her sadly. 

“It’s about half noon now, dearest. Do you remember anything from last night?”

Daphne sighed. “I remember being at the concert, and that I was suddenly in a lot of pain. And Simon carried me to the carriage. But I was able to piece the rest together from, well…” Daphne gestured to the mess that was around the room. 

“Simon didn’t tell you?” Violet frowned. 

“He hasn’t said much of anything since I awoke, but it’s only been a few minutes. I think he’s still a bit rattled.”

“Yes, I would say the same. Well, dearest,” Violet wrung her hands, looking over at the basket of dirty linens. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite know what to say.”

“It’s all right Mama. I thank you for taking care of me. Of us.”

At that moment, Simon returned, picking up Daphne’s ruined dress and scrunching it into the bundle of clothes he was carrying. “I’d prefer to have these burned.” He said quietly. 

“Simon, I’m sure -”

“I’ll never be able to think of anything else when we wear them.”

Daphne bit her lip; the sadness in her husband’s voice made her chest tighten. She nodded, and he dumped the bundle into the basket of linens. “Mama, could I borrow one of Eloise’ dresses? Just for lunch and the ride back to Hastings House?”

Both Simon and Violet stared at her in disbelief. “The ride back to Hastings House? Dearest, I hardly think you need -”

Daphne interrupted her mother, but she never took her eyes off her husband. “I just want to go home.”

\---

As Simon led Daphne up the stairs to her bedroom, she was unable to stop herself from giggling. Simon looked at her with his signature arched brow. “And what could possibly be so funny, your Grace?”

“Your waistcoat is too short, and my skirts are too long. What a sight we must be!”

Simon grumbled, looking down at his attire. It was true, and he had noticed both the legs and the sleeves were too short for him as well, when he had dressed in the borrowed clothes. He was able to roll up the sleeves, and tuck the trousers into his boots but there was no hiding the full inch of linen shirt visible between the trousers and waistcoat. “I did not think your brothers so short.”

“They’re Colin’s. He’s the only one who still keeps a room at the family home. Benedict and Anthony have their bachelor lodgings in Grosvenor Square. And he  _ is _ a bit shorter than you.” Daphne giggled a bit more. “At least you’re not holding them up with your fist like I have to! I didn’t realize Eloise had outgrown me.”

Simon smiled at his wife, and was overcome by the urge to lift her into his arms and carry her up the stairs like he had done at Clyvedon. He was about to stop himself, afraid she would reject him, but at the last moment he decided if this was his last chance to be bold, to make memories with his lovely wife, then he was going to take it. 

With a cheeky grin he lifted her easily into his arms, making her let out an adorable shriek he ascended the stairs. 

“Simon! What are you doing?” she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Making sure you don’t trip over that skirt.” 

When he reached the landing, Simon was suddenly at a loss. Did he bring her to his room, insist that she move back in with him like she had in Clyvedon? Or did he bring her to her room to allow her her privacy? 

In the end, he didn’t have to make a decision, because Daphne made it for him. “My room is to the right,” she said softly, and he nodded stiffly as he carried her there. He placed her gently on the bed, and then swiftly made to leave. But once again, Daphne grabbed at his sleeve. “Won’t you stay?”

Simon looked at her, his face an unreadable mask. “I thought… when you said…”

Daphne flushed, looking away when she realized her misstep, and Simon had the thought that he was glad to see her face full of color again. When she spoke, it was with a timidness Simon had not heard since their wedding. “I just prefer how light and sunny this room is. You can… I mean, if you would like, um….” Daphne closed her eyes trying to will away the embarrassment. This was her  _ husband _ for God’s sake! “You’re welcome to move your things in here…”

Simon kept his face unreadable, but inside, his heart soard.  _ She wants me near her _ . With a hard swallow, he nodded, not trusting his voice to no break - or God forbid, stammer - and left to change into clothes that were his own. He instructed his valet to wash and return the borrowed garments to Bridgerton House, and set off for his wife’s rooms. 

He entered without knocking, which he supposed he shouldn’t have done. Rose, Daphne’s ladies’ maid, nearly fell over in shock. “Your Grace, I’m so sorry,” she said, bobbing into a low curtsy before she began relacing Daphne’s corset.

“No apologies necessary. I barged in. May I ask my wife why is donning a corset right now?”

Daphne looked over her shoulder at him. “Because its a proper undergarment?”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can rest in proper clothing.”

Simon huffed, stalking over and standing a bit closer than propriety dictated in front of Rose. “Daphne, please. I know you. If you are getting dressed, it is because you plan to  _ do _ something that requires you to be dressed.” Simon sighed, trying to rein in his exasperation. “Just come to bed.”

She looked away, discomfort written all over her form. “I’m still bleeding,” she whispered. 

Simon stilled. Surely she didn’t think he wanted… “Daff, I’m exhausted. You heard what Anthony said - the midwife said you must stay in bed for at least a few more days. I’ll have some books brought up, and some sweets… just -”

“Alright. Rose,” Daphne started, but Simon had caught her maid’s eye over her shoulder. 

“I’ll go ask Cook to make some of your favorite sweets your Grace. Something to raise the spirits, I think.” Rose bobbed in another curtsy, even though Daphne couldn’t see her, and then swiftly disappeared. 

Daphne stared at her husband, confusion written all over her face, but he did not meet her eye. He caught sight of a long shift and dressing gown hanging behind a screen, and grabbed them before settling himself behind her to undo Rose’s work on her corset. When he was done, and Daphne had shrugged it off, he lightly grazed his fingers down her spine, making her shiver. Then, he held the shift over her head. “Arms up.”

“Simon, I can certainly don a shift and dressing gown myself,” she said with exasperation, even as she did as he asked. 

“I j-just… P-please. Let me care for you.” Simon whispered, his voice thick and hoarse with emotion, and Daphne could do nothing but nod. 

He slipped the garment over her head, watching the gauzy fabric settle around her calves. Once he had helped slip her dressing gown over her shoulders, she turned to face him. Instead of speaking, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried his face into his chest. 

It took Simon a moment to return the hug - he had quite forgotten the sensation, since it had been years since anyone had spontaneously hugged him like this - but when he did he felt he never wanted to let her go. 

When Daphne finally looked up at him, she sighed in concern. “Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“No, I could not. My only thoughts were of you.”

Daphne nodded, her hand falling away from his face as she took a step back. “Then I think you are due for a nap.” she walked over to the bed, turning down the covers. “Come on then. You want me to rest, and I want you to sleep. I think we should be able to kill two birds with one stone, no?”

Simon looked at his wife, dumbfounded. However, he did not have to be told twice, and swiftly kicked off his boots before going to lay on the bed. 

Daphne gave him an unimpressed look. “Since when do you sleep in your breeches?”

Simon rolled his eyes, his voice laced with the teasing sarcasm he seemed only able to share with her. “Since I have not shared a bed with you since - “ They both froze, unable to meet each other's eyes. Simon cleared his throat. “I did not wish to make you uneasy.”

“You won’t. Just… I’d like for us to get back to normal, is all.”

“I don’t know what normal is for us, Daff.”

Daphne huffed, thoroughly displeased with the turn in the conversation. “You can undress for bed, Simon.”

He smiled at her, shucking his trousers and cravat but leaving his shirt as he crawled into bed. “I’ve missed that, you know.”

Daphne looked at him strangely as she situated herself under the covers. “Undressing for bed?”

“Hearing you use my name.”

Daphne let out a breath of surprise, unaware she would be so affected by such a revelation. “I’ve missed a great many things lately,” she whispered, curling up on her side. 

Simon reached across her, pulling her back to his chest, and he kissed the crown of her head. “I love you,” he said, his eyes heavy with sleep. When he had told he was exhausted he had failed to realize just how true that statement was. 

“I know. I love you too.” Daphne whispered, closing her eyes too. She had slept forever, but it seemed her body was still healing, and she was glad she had allowed Simon to convince her to rest.

As she fell asleep, Daphne felt the same spark of hope bloom in her chest from the night before. 

Perhaps they would be alright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my lovelies! Please excuse any historical medical inaccuracies, I've tried to do my research, but its not always easy to figure out what exactly they knew and didn't know during this time period.
> 
> xoxo  
> Rissa


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! Yes, yes, another update very very soon. It seems I am incapable of staying away from this fic. 
> 
> I know most of you are very eager to meet Charlotte, but we still need our favorite married couple to get through their troubles first. no need to fear, she will be making an appearance soon enough.

Simon woke up to the sensation of fingers working their way through his curls. He let out a noise of contentment, which caused Daphne to giggle softly. Squinting one eye open, he realized there were only the last fading rays of sunlight creeping in through the window. 

“What are you laughing at, wife?” he said groggily, closing his eyes again.

“That is the exact noise Colin makes whenever he eats anything,” she responded softly, her fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp.

“Ah, so you’ve heard it often.”

Daphne laughed heartily at that, making Simon open his eyes so he could witness her mirth. They exchanged a smile when she stopped, and he realized that his heart was full of joy from their current position. She was sitting up, and had somehow maneuvered his head into her lap without waking him. 

He felt loved. 

It was a nice feeling, but not one he was entirely comfortable with. 

He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit awkwardly. “I believe I am the one who is supposed to be taking care of you.”

Daphne hummed, scooting over a bit to put some space between them. Simon suddenly felt a bit cold. “I had Rose bring supper up here; I didn’t think either of us were up for a formal dinner tonight. She dropped it off only a minute or two before you woke up. I believe it is just some chicken, bread, and cheese.”

“I can smell Ratafia cakes as well. Your favorite,” Simon murmured as he donned his trousers. “Did she bring wine?”

Daphne was already at the table, inspecting the spread. “No, just a pot of tea. Probably a bit more fortifying for me.”

Simon nodded as he made his way to the table to join his wife. She poured while he served, and then they were both occupied by their own thoughts to do anything but eat in silence. 

Simon spoke first, after taking a long sip of tea. “I’d like to ask you a question.” Daphne raised a brow at him to continue. “Is there a reason you prefer to stay in this room instead of moving into mine?”

Daphne smirked, and rolled her eyes. “Yes, there are a few, actually. And none of them have anything to do with you.”

Simon attempted to keep his face impassive, but based on how his wife’s smirk turned into a kind smile, he rather thought he failed. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was relieved it wasn’t _his_ presence in the room she didn’t like. Instead of explaining this to her, he merely gestured for her to explain while he occupied his mouth with some food. 

“Three reasons, to be precise. First, the bed is bigger than the one in your room.”

Simon looked over his shoulder. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. It’s typical, I am told. The woman’s bedroom usually has a bigger bed for child birth.” Simon didn’t remark on that, clearly uncomfortable, so Daphne moved on. “Secondly, the light is better in here.”

“Oh, it is not!”

“It is! This room faces the front of the house, and therefore gets far more sunlight during the day. Your room faces the courtyard, and is always so dark and gloomy.”

Simon grumbled a bit, but he couldn’t exactly argue with a sound logical argument such as that. 

“And I quite like the wallpaper in here.”

Simon gave her a look of disbelief. “The wallpaper?”

“Yes, the wallpaper. _Your_ room is an unattractive shade of green covered in paintings of old men whose names neither of us are familiar with. Is there a reason you’re so opposed to this room?”

Simon looked around. In truth, he quite liked it. Yet he still felt the need to have her confirm she wasn’t trying to get away from _him_. “I’m not opposed. I will have my things brought moved in on the morrow.”

Daphne nodded, and continued on with her meal, until she suddenly placed her cutlery on her plate. “May I ask you a question?” Simon nodded. “What did your father do...” she sighed, looking up from her plate to meet his eye. “To make you take that vow in the first place?”

Simon stilled. “We do not need to have this conversation.”

“Don’t I deserve an explanation? As your wife?”

Simon sighed. “You deserve more than that indeed I -” He got up from his chair, only to end up back on his knees beside Daphne’s. It seemed he was on his knees before a lot the last few days. There was probably something poetic in that, his heart begging her forgiveness with words he could not bring himself to say. “I do not want to be alone. I know that now. I am sorry it took the idea of losing you to see that.” He grabbed her hands in his, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “But what I do not know is how to be the man you need me to be.” He kissed her fingers lightly. “The man you truly deserve. I… I do not know how to do this.”

Daphne stood, pushing her chair back with her legs so she could kneel with him. “Yes… yes, you do.”

“Daphne -”

“I know you do. You stay. You stay, and we get through this, together. If you do this, if _we_ do this, then -”

“Then nothing else will matter?” Simon whispered, his face suddenly a hair's breadth away from hers. 

Daphne nodded, and she leaned forward to kiss him, her hands snaking around his neck to the back of his head. It was a heated kiss, full of passion and apologies and longing, full of all the things their hearts felt but their minds were too afraid to admit. But soon (too soon, in Simon’s opinion) Daphne pulled away. She just looked at him, seeming to catalogue every feature, every fiber of his being for her memory. 

And then she kissed him again. 

They spent the rest of their night like that, eventually moving to the bed, kissing and holding each other until they fell asleep. 

\---

The next day, after a brief argument on the subject, Simon begrudgingly agreed to do some work in his study while Daphne sat in the library. He had wanted to just have the footmen bring books up to her room, hell, he would have had them bring up every book in the damn library to please her if it kept her in bed. 

He did not win that argument however, because she had looked up at him with her beautiful blue grey eyes wide and sweet, and said in her most kind and tender voice that she really just wanted a change of scenery. 

And as much as he was loath to admit it, he was unable to deny her anything when she looked at him like that.

Simon sat in his office, unable to focus on the account books in front of him or the stack of correspondence he had to deal with from yesterday. After spending so much time in her presence, he found he was really rather lost without his wife. 

He could feel the emotions stirring hot and painful in his chest. He didn’t want to think about what they had lost, or how it had come to be. Yesterday had been so lovely, even if there were awkward moments, but if he was being honest, he was still hurt by Daphne’s actions. 

He didn’t want to be; he had decided while she was unconscious that if she woke up, he would get rid of every stupid notion he had for separating from her. But even if his resolve, and his love for her, were fierce, he didn’t know if he could trust her yet. 

And then there was just the lingering fear of what he would do without her. The pain he had tried to ignore when she laid in that bed in Bridgerton house, pale and weak and unmoving. 

It was too much to bear. 

With a roar, he toppled the stack of account books for his various estates. Realizing the act of destruction helped to lessen the weight in his chest, Simon began knocking things about that would be easy to clean up.

He started to pull books off the shelves, drawers out of his desk, and tearing things out of the cupboards. If anyone came in, they would assume him frantically looking for something, and it almost felt that way, even if he didn’t know what he could possibly be looking for. 

Suddenly, he noticed a small wooden box tucked in the back of his liquor cabinet behind some empty port and brandy bottles. It was plain, and completely unassuming, except for the fact that it was locked.

Simon stood, stalking over and wrenching the door open. “Jeffries!”

Simon’s butler strode calmly into the room, as if he wasn’t surprised by the least that Simon had called for him. He was _always_ like that, and Simon hoped that one of these days, he’d be able to catch his butler off guard. 

“Yes, your Grace?”

“What is this box?”

It appeared today would be that day, because Simon could see a faint blush color Jeffries’ cheeks. He cleared his throat uncharacteristically, and Simon raised a brow at that. “Well you see, your Grace I… I may have disobeyed one of your late father’s orders.” When Simon didn’t respond, Jeffries continued. “He instructed me to burn some correspondence of his from, well, from a woman. But I saved a few of the letters because I didn’t think he would tell you what they contained, and it was something you had a right to know.”

Simon nodded, quite pleased with his butler in that moment. “Thank you, Jeffries. It means a great deal to me that you would have such forethought. I assume you have the key?”

Jeffries looked around at the havoc Simon had wreaked on his office. “Perhaps you’d like to wait to open it. Maybe after the Duchess is recovered?”

“No, no, I’d like to open them now.” Simon ground out, refusing to look at the mess behind him that had Jeffries so concerned. 

“Your Grace -”

“For God’s sake Jeffries just give me the damn key!” 

Jeffries sighed, but nodded. “Very well, your Grace. The key is in my room, I will go retrieve it. Perhaps you’d like to take tea on the terrace while I summon someone to clean up here.”

Simon nodded, passing by Jeffries in silence.

He was not surprised that his father had secrets, and he was grateful his mind had something else to focus on besides the unintelligible swirl of emotions he had been dealing with prior. 

\---

Daphne found herself pacing the library instead of actually reading. Every book she had picked up failed to hold her interest, and though she longed to sit at the pianoforte in the morning room, she had promised Simon that she would still take it easy, so long as he didn’t argue with her desire to sit in their library. Yet, she had all this pent up energy, even though she had only spent the one day in bed. 

Truthfully, she was sure it had to do with all the things that were unsaid between herself and her husband, but she didn’t want to think about that.

She noticed there was a desk and some furniture still covered by the white dust sheets that were typical in the _ton’s_ townhomes during the latter half of the year. Intrigued that these specific pieces of furniture were not in use, Daphne decided that an investigation was just the thing to occupy her mind. 

As she tore off the dust coverings and began rifling through the drawers, she had no idea she would find some of the answers to her many questions. 

It started with some unopened letters addressed to the Duke of Hastings. Judging by the stiffness and yellowing of the parchment, Daphne guessed these letters were rather old, so they must of been sent to Simon’s father. It seemed odd that the wax seal hadn’t been broken on them, but since the man was dead, there was nothing stopping her from opening them now. 

It wasn’t like he could get mad at her. 

Daphne opened the first letter, and almost immediately felt her eyes fill with tears. The more she read, the more her heart ached for her husband, until she was nearly sobbing. She placed the last letter on the table, one hand coming to wipe her eyes, when a soft voice startled her from the doorway.

“Your grace?”

Daphne nearly jumped out of her skin, looking up to see Lady Danbury in the doorway of the library. She stood, suddenly very conscious she was still in her dressing gown. At least she had pulled her hair up. “Lady Danbury.”

“Did you forget we were going to have luncheon together today? Your staff seemed very surprised to see me.”

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me. I have not - please, sit down.” Daphne gestured to the sofas in the middle of the large room. She rang for a servant to bring them some lunch, and then joined the older woman. “I’m supposed to be resting.” 

“I can go if you’re not well, my dear.”

“No, no, I am fine…” Daphne sighed, looking at her hands. “I had a pregnancy that did not take.”

Lady Danbury nodded elegantly. “I assume that is why you and your family left the concert early the other night. I think it is safe to say it was traumatic.”

“For both of us, I’m afraid.”

Lady Danbury snorted. “Why are you afraid? Of course it was traumatic for Simon, any fool could see how much he loves you.” When Daphne did not respond, Lady Danbury used her cane to point at the desk Daphne had vacated. “What were you reading when I came in.”

“Letters, that the duke seems to have written to his father as a boy.”

“Ah.”

“Did you know of them?”

“I did. And now, apparently, so do you.”

Daphne looked over her shoulder at the parchment she had left scattered across the desk, her heart aching once again for the neglect her husband had suffered. “I had no idea… that Simon had trouble speaking as a child! I-”

“How could you have done?” Lady Danbury smiled, part sadness, part pride. “He worked so very hard to eliminate the difficulty. He was…” She pursed her lips in a wry grin, as if the memory brought her great joy. “Well he was so very proud. It is why he wrote those letters in the first place.”

Daphne tilted her head in understanding. “To keep his father informed of his progress.” Lady Danbury hummed in response, so Daphne continued. “And the late duke never even deigned to read them! How could…” Daphne could feel the tears coming again, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. “What kind of father -”

“One that not only expected, but _demanded_ perfection from his son.” Lady Danbury answered before Daphne had to finish her thought. “And when that was not _achieved_ …” she scoffed, the word ‘acheived’ sounding more like a curse than anything else Daphne had ever heard from the older woman’s lips. “Well… I shall leave it to you to imagine.”

Daphne shook her head, her thoughts racing until she could form a coherent sentence. “Simon could not be any different from a man such as that.”

“Of course. We know that to be true, your Grace.”

Daphne smiled at her, the only semblance of family her husband had in this world before they were married. She reached across the table to touch Lady Danbury’s hand gently. “You helped him overcome his impediment.”

“I merely showed him what he was capable of all along. And,” she said as she smiled fondly. “If he needed some encouragement, a push from time to time, that was something I was happy to provide. But, at the end of the day, the duke’s triumph was his and his alone.” Lady Danbury squeezed Daphne’s hand. “It had to be.”

\---

“Dear _god_ ,” Simon whispered, his eyes grazing back and forth across the letter for the umpteenth time. It was not a long missive, but it was more shocking than anything he had imagined. 

_My Grace,_

_I know you are still angry with me about the birth of my daughter, but I do not know how else to assure you that I took no other man in my bed while you were my keeper. It is no one’s fault she turned out so small and weak, but if the doctors are to be believed, it will not matter in a few weeks. She is too sick to be long for this world._

_I had her christened, of course. Back in Kent, where I spent my confinement with my mother. Her name is Charlotte Maria Basset Jones, but I have instructed my mother to simply have the grave marker read ‘Baby Charlotte’. The only ones who know of her true parentage are us, and God._

_I have returned to London, and await your esteemed company, my Lord._

_Yours always,_

_Maria Jones_

It was the fourth of five letters Jeffries had saved, all detailing the same thing.

His father had had a mistress. She had given birth to a child. Simon had a sister. 

Well, a half sister, really, and she was a bastard, but she was still a Basset. 

The first two had informed his father of the pregnancy, and of Maria’s intent to spend her confinement with her mother in Kent. The third told him that the child was a girl, and that she had come out very small and barely breathing, and requested that he please send money for her care. 

Jeffries had filled in the blanks for Simon, informing him that when his father learned of his new child’s illness, he had become enraged, insisting that his mistress _had_ to have taken other lovers, because the Hastings seed could never produce such a sickly, failing, _imperfect_ little girl.

Simon held the last letter in his hand. Like the letters he had sent to inform his father of his speech progress, the late duke hadn’t even bothered to open it. It was dated a year after the last one he had read.

_To the Duke of Hastings:_

_I am simply writing to tell you that you were wrong._ ~~_Your_ ~~ _Our child is alive and well. She is living with my mother in Kent, since the Doctors believe the fresh country air is what saved her. I have no wish to be a mother, and quite believe I will do her more harm than good._

_I will remain in London, should you wish to do your duty and provide for her, but I will not give you any more information about her location. I should have expected this behavior from you, after I witnessed the spurn of your son, but I held you in such high esteem that I took your word that it was justified._

_I hope that God spurns you in return._

_Maria Jones_

It took everything in him not to call for a carriage and fly off straight to Kent to hunt down this mysterious sister of his. He knew he should talk to his wife first, but he was unsure how she would take the news.

Simon felt the same way about ruined women and bastard children as he did about dowries - they were an insulting custom and belief system that was designed by men who did not have the good sense to realize women were the better, smarter, and fairer sex. 

However, he was aware that not everyone felt the same.

Simon realized that all this time, there had been another soul who had been rejected by his - by _their_ father. Had she too spent her life forlorn and alone? Had she been treated well? Even with his struggles, Simon was aware he had lived a very charmed, privileged life in many ways. What of his sister?

If the date on the letters were to be believed, she would only be seventeen now. She would need someone to sponsor her debut in London society, should she want such a thing. 

Didn’t all girls want such things?

His mind turned to his sister-in-law Eloise, and he shook his head. No, certainly not _all_ girls. 

He stood, determined to find his wife. Despite his thoughts earlier, he knew she was the only person he could trust with such a revelation. 

And, since she was much smarter than him, she would know what to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of simon and daphne's dialogue, as well as the conversation between daphne and lady danbury were pulled directly from the show. 
> 
> thank you all for your wonderful comments you have been leaving me. i cannot express enough how much i love and appreciate them.
> 
> xoxo  
> Rissa


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my lovelies! A bit of a shorter chapter tonight, but a lot of important stuff happening here. I also used dialogue from both the show AND the book in this chapter.
> 
> Fair warning, this is going to get heavy.

Daphne stood in the front hall after saying goodbye to Lady Danbury, weighing her options. She needed to talk to her husband, that much was for sure. But she was hesitant to seek him out. What if he wanted his space? She assumed his tenants were still writing to him about the progress at Clyvedon, especially since they had left on such short notice, and that such matters were keeping him busy. 

She didn’t have long to ponder her dilemma, because said husband came running at her from the drawing room, clutching a few pieces of parchment in his hand. He had to skid to a halt, and almost knocked her over. 

“Daff? What are you doing here? I thought you were in the library!” He exclaimed indignantly. 

“I was!” She rolled her eyes as he righted himself. “I forgot I had invited Lady Danbury over for lunch today, so I never sent word to her that I was unwell. I was just showing her out.”

Simon nodded. “I need to speak with you,” he said plainly, reaching for her hand. 

“I think it would be good for us to talk. Would you like to return with me to the library?”

Simon didn’t respond, just let her lead him back to the couch where she had taken lunch with Lady Danbury. Daphne glanced behind her at the desk, and Simon began speaking. 

“Daphne, I fou-”

“I found the letters you wrote to your father as a child, and I read them.” The words spilled out of Daphne’s mouth of their own volition, as if she was unable to keep them to herself now that he was in front of her. 

Simon blinked at her, unsure how to respond. “Daphne…”

“Just because something is not perfect does not mean it is not deserving of love. Your father made you believe otherwise. He made you believe that you needed to be without fault in order to be loved, but he was wrong. Should you need any proof of the matter, then…then look just here.” Daphne sniffed, looking down at her hands. 

“I hate myself like that. When I lose control, and I can’t speak, I-I-I… I hate myself like that.” Simon couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

“I don’t think any less of you when you stammer,” she said softly. 

“I think less of myself.”

Daphne sighed. “You’re not the boy your father thought you were.”

“I know.”

Daphne scooted closer to him. “Simon, I am tired of pretending. Pretending that we are okay, that we have everything figured out. Tired of pretending that I don’t love you.”

Simon looked up at her. “I know you love me.”

Daphne smiled sadly. “I really do. I love all of you - every scar, every flaw, every imperfection. Even the parts that you believe are too dark and too shameful. I love you.”

“And I love you. I…” Simon took a deep breath. “I’m afraid. I don’t like… what you did, and I want for us to be together, but…”

Daphne looked to the ceiling, trying to will away the tears that were threatening to consume her. “But you don’t trust me.”

“It is complex. I trust you, with my home and my mind and my heart, but-”

“But not with your body.” Simon nodded. “I deserve that. I am truly sorry, Simon, for acting, as I did. I-” Daphne took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at him. He was staring at the seat of the sofa, and she reached out to hold his hand. He met her gaze, and they just looked at each other for a long moment. “I don’t know what I was thinking. That doesn’t make it right, but it is the truth. But unwanted advances are unwanted advances, whether man or woman, married or not.” Daphne bit her lip, unsure how to continue. She _needed_ to tell him her thoughts, but this next part, it was too painful to think about. It was one of those things she didn’t want to admit, but she loved him, and that meant loving him enough to let him go if that’s what he wanted. And if he wanted to separate because she had done irreparable damage to his trust in her, then that was the price she had to pay for her actions. “I don't deserve your forgiveness, Simon. I understand if you no longer can trust me. I care too much about you to hold you against your will. You deserve to be happy,” her voice broke with unshed tears. “Even if that isn’t with me.”

“It would always be with you.” he whispered. “But I’m not sure I will ever be allowed to see it.”

“You may think you are too damaged and too broken to ever allow yourself to be happy, but you can choose differently, Simon. That should not be up to anyone else. That _cannot_ be up to anyone else.”

Simon squeezed her hand. “Together. We can do this together, and if we do -”

“Nothing else will matter?” Daphne said with a little laugh, echoing their conversation from the night before. 

Simon nodded. He reached over, wiping a stray tear Daphne had not been able to prevent from falling. “There is something else I wished to discuss with you.” When Daphne nodded, he reached for the letters he had left on the low table in front of them. “Jeffries saved these letters of my fathers’ - I want you to read them.”

Daphne gave him a strange look, but did as he asked. He watched as all the same emotions he had felt when he read the letters flit across her face. Mouth hanging open, she turned to him after she finished the last letter. “A sister?” 

Simon nodded. When she didn’t say anything else, he swallowed convulsively. “I want to find her.”

“Of course we should,” Daphne murmured, standing up and beginning to pace. She started mumbling to herself as she reread the letters.

“You’re not - you -” Simon swallowed again, and Daphne stopped to look at him. 

Her face softened, seeming to understand the thoughts he couldn’t find the words for. “She’s family, and family is everything.” 

As she began pacing again, Simon stared at her, in awe of the woman he married. She was truly the most remarkable woman he had ever known, and he had the startling impression that eventually, they would be ok.

“Anthony!” she said suddenly, causing Simon to nearly jump out of his skin. “It says she lives in Kent, right? Our country seat, Aubrey Hall, is located in Kent. Anthony could help.” She frowned, sitting on the sofa next to him. “At least, it would be a start.”

Simon shrugged. “It is a better notion than I had come up with yet. I had simply been wracking my brain with how to help her once I find her.”

“Once _we_ find her. And I admit, I don’t know. Her parentage does seem to pose a problem.” 

Simon sighed. “It’s an absurd issue.”

Daphne nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. It’s a child being punished for the sins of their parents, if you can even call it sin.”

“I thought… well, Jeffries told me he does not believe my father ever sent any money, so it is anyone’s guess how she has been living all this time. I was thinking she could live with us, as my - I mean, our, ward.”

Daphne smiled widely. “I love that idea. There is really no one aside from us and Jeffries who would know any different.”

“And should any rumors start, I doubt they would affect us too harshly. The dukedom does have some benefits.”

“You should go to Anthony today.” At his look of protest, Daphne rolled her eyes. “I will be fine. I actually think I would like to lie down for a while.”

Simon stood, lending his arm to his wife. “Then let us get you upstairs, my dear, and I will set off to meet your brother.”

Daphne smiled gratefully at him, allowing him to lead her up their bed chamber, silently grateful for the chance to be alone with her thoughts. 

After all, the afternoon had left her with a lot to think about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooof that's a lot there. I'm hoping to make the chapter a nice little interlude to help get relieve some of this tension. I can't hear what you think of their talk!
> 
> xoxo  
> Rissa


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovelies! I am sorry for the long wait - I started a new job before I finished up at my old one, so I was doing BOTH and had no time... I'm also in the process of trying to move states (long story, it's all up in the air right now unfortunately) so life has been kind of crazy. 
> 
> This story is turning into the slowest burn fic I've ever written, so I will be updating tags, but I hope you all love it enough to stick around. Charlotte is coming soon, Simon is just having a lot of feelings and really wants you all to read them right now, hence why it's taking so long.

Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton, did not think himself a man easily surprised (except on the all-too-frequent occasions his sisters did something no one expected, but as he did not count these occurrences, neither should anyone else). So when Simon Basset, Duke of Hastings, his best friend and brother-in-law, delivered the second most surprising news he’d ever heard in his life (the first being that his father had died from a bee sting, of course), he nearly fell off his chair. 

“You have a  _ sister _ ?!” Anthony whispered furiously, hunched low over his desk. Why couldn’t anything be simple with Simon? It wasn’t really his fault, seeing as all of the ridiculous problems his friend had had over the years stemmed from his neglectful, cruel father. 

Anthony felt no guilt at all wishing that the late duke was rotting in hell. 

“So it seems. Daphne thinks you may be able to help me locate her.” Simon said nonchalantly, handing his friend the letters Jeffries had shown him this morning. 

Anthony skimmed them quickly, his eyes darting back and forth as he absently chewed his bottom lip. “I can see why she’d think that. Aubrey Hall is located in Kent.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “You say that as if I didn’t already possess that information. I have  _ been there _ , you know.”

Anthony waved off his remark as he handed the letters back to him. “Right, right. Have you decided how you wish to provide for her once she is found?”  _ If she is found _ , he thought uncharitably.

“Daphne and I had discussed bringing her to London as our ward.”

Anthony blinked at his friend in disbelief. “I’m sorry, your  _ what _ ?!”

“Our ward. If, and therefore when, we find her, I would contact my solicitor to draw up some papers providing her with a dowry and a living. She would come and live with Daphne and myself, and we would tell people she was a distant cousin that my father neglected to take care of during his life, and I only just learned of her existence. It would allow her a debut in society and the protection of my rank.”

“And what if someone finds out that she is not your cousin? Have you any thought of what that will do to her reputation you’re trying so hard to legitimize? And what of Daphne’s reputation?”

“ _ Daphne’s _ reputation? Have you forgotten she is a duchess now? There are few who would dare to cross a duke, especially one whose wife is as well liked as myself. And frankly, my wife seemed overjoyed at the idea of bringing my sister home. ‘Family is everything’ were her exact words, a line that has come from your own lips more times than I can count.”

“That was different, you -”

Simon stood, eyes flashing. “What if Daphne, or Eloise, or Frannie, or Hyacinth had been born a bastard? What if your father hadn’t been so good and saintly and kind?” Anthony just stood at him, slack jawed. “If one of the younger girls was a bastard, I certainly wouldn’t love them any less, and they are only my family through marriage.” Simon sighed, glancing at the door. He could see the light was blocked from coming through beneath the door, and the size of the shadow was suspiciously similar to a child's foot. “I only want your help Anthony,” he said quietly, before raising his voice to be heard outside the door. “If a young miss is done listening in, perhaps she would like to ask her mother if she can visit her sister at Hastings house?” 

The door to Anthony’s study opened very slowly, and a sheepish looking Hyacinth shuffled forward. “Mother has taken Eloise to the modiste. If Anthony says it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind if I go.”

Simon glanced back at his friend, whose expression had turned indulgent, if not a bit thoughtful. “Go fetch your coat and you may go with Simon to visit Daphne. I will send Colin to fetch you before supper,” he said to the ten-year-old, who squealed with excitement before rushing out of the study. “Simon…”

“Just think on it, Anthony. That is all I ask.”

\---

Daphne was overjoyed to be woken up from her nap by little ten-year-old Hyacinth jumping into her bed. Though not the most proper of greetings, it was nice to have a semblance of normalcy, and her sister’s unladylike behavior was as normal as anything else in her life. 

When Simon informed her that Colin would be by to take Hyacinth home for supper, Daphne rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not! I will write to Anthony and Mother and tell them she is to dine with us.” She turned her eyes warmly to Hyacinth. “I think I shan’t be able to part with her so soon.”

Hyacinth bounced with excitement. “Can we take a walk to the stables? I would love to see all of Simon’s pretty horses!”

Simon laughed. “Of course. Why don’t we let your sister get dressed and then the three of us can walk together?”

Hyacinth squealed in delight, and Daphne tilted her head in curiosity, but Simon was silent as he reached for the younger girl’s hand. He had been so adamant that she not get dressed, and not do much of anything for the next few days, that his sudden willingness to go on a family jaunt was a bit astounding. 

With a shrug, Daphne rang for Rose, and began rummaging around for an old, sturdy morning dress. She found her favorite - a pale blue muslin woven with a woven small dot pattern all over it, with long sleeves and a low square neckline that showed a decent amount of her chemise - and was taking off her dressing gown when her ladies’ maid finally appeared. 

“You rang, your grace?” she said demurely, bowing into a quick curtsey before helping Daphne change from her night shift into her chemise.

“My sister Hyacinth has come for a visit, and my husband has promised her a family walk through the stables. She is not of the patient sort, as I’m sure you remember, so perhaps we can pin my hair up simply?”

Rose nodded as she finished doing up the buttons on the back of Daphne’s dress. “I will do as quick as I can, or the young miss will come and try and do it herself.”

Daphne and Rose shared a little chuckle, but Rose was true to her word, doing up the duchess’ hair in record time. As Daphne rolled her stockings up her legs, Rose came from her dressing room carrying a few pairs of shoes. “Slippers or half boots?”

“Boots, for sure. The leather ones. There is no reason to dirty the satin.”

“Except Simon could just buy you a new pair! You’re a duchess now Daff, you could dirty a pair of satin shoes everyday and it wouldn’t even matter!” Hyacinth had come bounding into the room just as Daphne had finished her statement, and had no hesitation at voicing her opinion. 

Daphne laughed with a shake of her head. “That would be incredibly wasteful, sister.”

Simon held out his arm for his wife. “We should get going if we want to get our walk in before it starts to get cool. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.”

“I’m surprised you agreed to my coming out at all,” Daphne said quietly. 

“The doctor said fresh air would do you good, and you were looking a little pale when I left for Bridgerton House.” 

As Simon and Daphne turned to the door, Hyacinth bounded forward to hold Simon’s hand. The unexpected gesture made him still, but Hyacinth, unaware that she had surprised him, simply tugged on it impatiently. 

“Come on Simon! I want you to show me your horses!”

\---

Simon could not remember a time when he had felt such mixed emotions. 

He was watching Daphne help Hyacinth feed her new horse some apples; it was a large, gentle creature, but one that Simon knew was built for speed, as she had divulged how much she loved the feeling of being on a galloping horse during their fake courtship. 

She was as beautiful as ever, despite her cheeks missing some of their rosy glow, but he knew that was probably both due to her recent pregnancy loss and him insisting she rest and not complete her daily toilette (he was not naive enough to think that British ladies did not still partake in some elements of French fashion). 

Watching her with Hyacinth - spirited, funny, sometimes ridiculous Hyacinth - filled his heart with warmth. It was what he had always longed for but gave up hoping he’d ever have - a family, a house of love and laughter. 

And yet he was guilty, saddened, by the thought that he had almost taken this away from his lovely wife. And for what, spite? What would that have gained him?

More yet, the sight made him nervous. Would he ever be like that with his own sister? Would she even want to speak to him? Or would he just be dooming himself to another silent, brooding house by inviting her in?

What if Anthony had a point? Not about the rumors, but perhaps bringing her to London, inviting her to live with him and Daphne, without really getting to know her, was a bit ill-thought out…

“Tag! You’re it, Simon!”

Simon was shaken out of his wandering thoughts by the soft wack Hyacinth landed on his arm. He looked to his wife, who shrugged at him with a wry smirk. Hyacinth had stopped a few feet away from him, head tilted as if she was trying to decipher a difficult puzzle. 

And then he took off running, chasing the ten-year-old- child down the length of the stables, her abundant giggles making him smile wider than he had in weeks. When he finally caught her (not that he had been trying very hard, since the longer he chased her the more she giggled, and he realized it made him very happy to hear her laugh) he grabbed her around her middle, deftly tossing her upside down over his shoulder, her skirts tangling around her knees as she kicked precariously close to his ear in mirth.

As he made his way back to the stall where they had left Daphne just a few moments ago, he came face to face with his housekeeper, her eyes wide and expression scandalized, as she stood frozen with her arm outstretched towards his wife, a piece of parchment bearing the Bridgerton seal in her hand. 

“Is everything alright, Mrs. Reynolds?” he asked with a cocky tilt of his head, as if he wasn’t holding a squirming, giggling child over his shoulder. 

“Your Grace, I just -” the older woman cleared her throat, steeling her resolve in front of her young master. “That is  _ not _ how one handles a young lady.”

Simon chuckled, his good humor infectious as he saw Daphne turn away to hide her own grin. “Lady?” he called out as he looked around dramatically, turning this way and that, swinging his body wildly and causing Hyacinth to giggle even louder. “I see no young lady! I see only this imp, that I have caught galavanting across my stables!” Simon turned his head sideways to look at Hyacinth’s face. “What say you, Imp? Would you care for some tea and biscuits?”

At Hyacinth’s excited nod, Simon flipped her back onto her feet, one hand on her shoulder as she wobbled at the sudden rush of blood going away from her head. He heard Daphne gently ask Mrs. Reynolds to prepare them some tea and cakes, but he was too busy kneeling down to make sure Hyacinth was ok to pay much attention. He felt a brief tinge of fear grip his chest, afraid he had held her upside down too long and had accidentally hurt her, when she turned to him with a wide grin. 

“Simon, you mustn’t tell my other brothers what I’m about to tell you. Do you promise?” Simon nodded solemnly, and Hyacinth leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Right now,  _ you _ are my favorite brother.”

“Hyacinth!”

The young miss and the duke looked over at Daphne simultaneously as she shook her head. “You are not supposed to have a favorite.”

Hyacinth shrugged. “Well I do. And it’s Simon.”

“But just right now,” he added with a grin. 

Daphne shook her head, but her smile betrayed her good humor. “Come along you two, before the tea gets cold.” She reached her hand out, and Hyacinth raced forward to grab it. Simon came along the other side, and she grabbed his hand just as she had done on their way out to the stables. 

For the first time in many years, Simon’s mind was free of any worries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few easter eggs from Pride and Prejudice and Death Comes to Pemberley in this chapter, if any of you are fans of that. Let me know if you caught them!
> 
> Also, a HUGE shoutout to [Little_Miss_Rainstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Miss_Rainstorm/pseuds/Little_Miss_Rainstorm) for being just a wonderful friend and sounding board for all the ideas I have for this fic (one of the aforementioned easter eggs was actually her idea)
> 
> xoxo  
> Rissa


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